Comes the Night (Entangled Suspense)

by Cathy Marlowe

  Distracted, he looked up at Alistair, replaying the conversation in his mind. “Oh, yeah, that’s fine. I’ll speak with her this morning.”

  He turned back to the crib, barely registering when his father left the room. Running his fingertips over the fine wood of Ace’s crib, he stared intently at the word scratched into the previously unmarred surface.

  RUN

  Thomas stood motionless next to the crib.

  RUN

  Maggie knew he stood at the side of Ace’s crib, watching him sleep, running his finger back and forth along the rail. How many times had she watched him in the middle of the night?

  RUN

  It was finally time to act on the sense of wrongness that had gnawed at him since he first woke up in the clinic.

  In spite of his worries and confusion, he was energized. It was time to take control of his life. Only Maggie’s frantic message had kept him from challenging his father. If he was going to run, Alistair mustn’t suspect a thing.

  “Mr. Forrester.” The guard had returned. “Mr. Forrester Sr. asked me to give this to you. He has some work to take care of.”

  “Thank you.” He closed the door behind the guard and sat in the rocking chair. He turned the letter over in his hands, somehow reluctant to open it. His father must have seen it. Would it be the truth or a lie?

  With a glance toward the crib, he tore open the flap and pulled out the paper.

  Dear Thomas,

  I’m sorry to leave without saying good-bye, but I’m going to be reunited with my daughter.

  As much as it hurts me to leave Ace, I know he’s in good hands. I know you worry about being a good father. Please trust me when I say you’re a wonderful dad. If you are ever unsure, just look at that sweet little boy. As long as you have him, you know just where to look for the truth about yourself.

  I’m sure you and Desiree will be very happy with your new baby. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.

  Maggie

  He sat for a long time, pondering the message. Minutes later, he called for the guard. As much as he hated to leave Ace, it was important he keep a regular schedule today.

  …

  Alistair stood in his office as evening approached, hands clenched. Uncertainty sat poorly with him, rather as if a foreign and most unwelcome intruder had invaded the pristine canvas of his superior mind. He prided himself on being goal-oriented. He knew what he wanted—he knew what was right—and he made it happen. There was no room for doubt.

  Thomas continued to upset his plans. Alistair wasn’t ready to admit it had been a mistake to bring Lizzie here. After all, little Alistair had been losing weight, and the additional time with his mother had been beneficial until that damned high-priced doctor finally found a formula he tolerated. But Thomas—Thomas continued to be a problem.

  He’d accepted Maggie’s departure, turned over selection of a new nanny to Desiree, and attended their daylong meeting. But now he’d sent a message that he was skipping tonight’s business dinner to be with Ace. Thomas didn’t want to leave the boy in the hands of a stranger.

  If he continued to coddle the boy, he would ruin him.

  Alistair loosened his grip on the vial that he held in his hands. By God, Thomas would learn his lesson. He didn’t care how many times they had to start over.

  …

  Thomas stared out the nursery window, watching the moon makes its slow ascent. Timing was everything. He’d finalized his plans for escape earlier in the week. Maggie was the only reason he and Ace were still here.

  The day had dragged on interminably, and, glancing at his watch, he saw there was still an hour before he put his plan into action. After changing into a T-shirt and black hooded sweat jacket and pants, he’d woken Ace and they were playing. It was best if his son slept through the first part of their journey.

  “Hey there, little guy.” He nibbled along his son’s jaw and Ace flashed a toothless grin in response. “How about a story?” He turned from the window and went in search of a book.

  Selecting Dr. Seuss—you could never go wrong with the wonderful rhymes of the good doctor—Thomas settled into the rocking chair.

  As long as you have him, you know just where to look for the truth about yourself.

  Thomas frowned. He’d spent time analyzing Maggie’s note, searching for hidden meaning. Why did this phrase suddenly come to mind? He closed his eyes and thought about his interactions with her over the past few days, sorting through memories until he found the right one.

  “Look at your daddy. It looks like he’s trying to find Spot. Before too long he’ll be playing hide-and-seek with you! But don’t worry, he’ll always be able to find you.”

  The emotion in her voice now made sense. She’d been mourning the loss of her own son, berating herself for her inability to find him…to be with him.

  “You’re his boy…Daddy will always know just where to look. And we know just where to look for Spot, don’t we?”

  Just where to look…

  He rose with Ace and walked over to search for Where’s Spot? on the bookshelf. He settled back into the chair, his sense of anticipation growing as he read each page. As always, Spot wasn’t in the grandfather clock, nor in the piano, nor under the stairs. He froze when he reached the next to the last page—the flap was jammed into a jagged tear at the bottom of the page. He pried open the flap and torn pieces of a photograph slipped into his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Thomas?”

  He looked up as Desiree entered the nursery, and he closed his hand around the fragments, slipping his fist beneath the book.

  “How’s our little Pooh Bear this evening? Isn’t it past his bedtime?”

  She approached the chair, reaching out to tickle Ace under his chin, causing him to squirm.

  “He’s been a little too busy to sleep.” He smiled coaxingly at her. “Would you like to put him to bed?”

  “Why, Thomas, you know I would love it.” She patted her flat stomach before reaching down to take Ace from his father’s arms. “And I need all the practice I can get. After all, it won’t be long before we have two in diapers!”

  She laughed as she walked the baby to his crib. While her back was turned, Thomas hid the pieces of the photograph in his jacket pocket.

  I’m sure you and Desiree will be very happy with your new baby. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Crossed fingers indicating a lie.

  RUN

  As he started to rise, he noticed something missing from the side table. The framed photograph of him holding Ace was gone. Frowning, he remembered Maggie’s laughter the day she’d taken the photo. It had been one of the rare occasions that she’d let down her guard, captivating him with her infectious humor. Had she taken the photo with her? Or was it now resting in his pocket, torn to pieces?

  “Thomas?”

  Tearing his eyes away from the empty table, he looked at Desiree, realizing too late her intended destination.

  “Thomas…” She slipped into the chair with him, leaning into him as she settled on his lap. “Darling.” She placed her lips against his and caressed him boldly.

  He deepened the kiss, running his hands over her curves until, thankfully, Ace began to cry. Good boy.

  Desiree ignored the sound until he withdrew from the kiss. He bolted from the chair with her in his arms, causing her to gasp and then laugh as he set her back on the floor. He placed a lingering kiss on her lips.

  “Not tonight.” He drew back to look into her eyes. “I want our first time—our first time in memory—to be special…unrushed…” He drew the word out. “Perfect.”

  For the first time since he met her, she was flustered.

  “Tonight I have work.” He nodded toward the pile of papers and notebooks that sat on the floor. “And Ace.” Placing his hand at the small of her back, he led her toward the door. “I’ll take care of the work and tomorrow you take care of finding a nanny.” Stopping at the door, he grasped her shoulders and pulled
her close. “So…tomorrow?”

  Blushing, Desiree rose on tiptoe, placed one last kiss on his lips, and left.

  Thomas stood for a moment, a grim smile on his lips. He was one hell of an actor.

  …

  Lizzie felt consciousness returning. She tried to clear her head, but everything was so foggy. She blinked and the simple movement seemed to take forever. F-o-r-e-v-e-r. The word dragged out, echoing in her mind. She started to giggle. Blinking…wasn’t that an involuntary response? Her high school biology teacher would be so proud. She grinned, or thought she did. She couldn’t really tell if her lips were moving or not.

  Vaguely she recalled waking once before. A bad man had pricked her arm and sent her back into darkness.

  “Shit! She’s waking again.” The bad man’s voice. She concentrated. It sounded like the man who’d been with Jameson when they took her in Atlanta.

  “Forrester’s already called twice. He’s not happy that we’re behind schedule. I told him we don’t control the frickin’ weather!”

  She heard the sound of a can being crushed and then dropped into a trash can.

  “What the hell. The woman’s already waiting for us at the airport, and then our part in this mess is almost over.”

  Lizzie’s heart pounded as she came fully awake. Where were they? How long had they been delayed? Oh God, she’d taken such horrible chances. What if Zach discovered the messages she’d left behind and acted before she had Sam safe in her arms again?

  What if they never intended to return Sam to her?

  This fear had been uppermost in her mind when she decided to risk everything by warning Zach. She was thankful she’d had so little time to act, because with more time to think through the potential consequences, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

  Because when Alistair inadvertently revealed his backup plan—and I’d probably have had to erase Thomas’s memory again—she knew. Daniel and Zach weren’t safe. They would never be safe.

  Although she had to focus on Sam, she was incapable of just saving one.

  She had to save them all.

  …

  Thomas juggled the reports in his arms as he opened the door to the nursery, stepping out into the hall and closing the door firmly behind him.

  “I have a ton of work and not enough workspace in there.” He shifted the papers as the top notebook began to slip. “As though it’s not bad enough that Maggie left without notice, the old man is making me nuts with his demands.”

  The normally stoic guard smirked, poor rich guy written all over his face.

  “You call me if you hear Ace cry.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Forrester.”

  With a nod, Thomas started down the hall. The guard would never call, never check on the baby. Standing orders from Alistair to let the baby cry. He turned to look back at the guard. “I mean it,” he ordered, glaring. “Call me or you’re fired.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After a long look, Thomas continued down the hall at a businesslike pace. Best way to make sure you didn’t receive good service—treat employees like crap. Odds were 100 to 1 the guard would never even open the door to the nursery.

  He was a hell of an actor indeed.

  Once he was out of the guard’s line of sight, he walked swiftly to his rooms and set his work on the desk, spreading it out before pouring a glass of scotch to set beside it. Reaching inside the top drawer, he grabbed the tape dispenser and put it in his pocket.

  Making sure his sweatshirt was zipped securely, he pulled the hood over his head and slipped out the terrace door, staying hidden in the shadows of the house until he reached the corner where the distance between the landscaping and the heavily wooded area was the shortest. He watched as the night guard completed his tour of the terrace, and as soon as the man turned the corner, Thomas ran as smoothly as he could across the open area, forcing himself to maintain the even pace he set for most of his late-night runs.

  For the first time since he woke up, he was glad his baby boy had been premature and was small for his age. The idiot of a guard hadn’t thought twice about the bulky sweatshirt that hid his precious bundle.

  “Thomas.”

  He skidded to a stop, his heart pounding. Desiree. He shoved his hands in his pockets, extending his arms so the jacket pushed away from his body. She sat on a bench in the shadows of the flower garden.

  He forced a smile. “What are you doing out here so late?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Her eyes glowed in the moonlight as she searched his face.

  “I needed to clear my head before I finish my work.” Damn it. “I’m going for a run.”

  She laughed. “I can see that.” She rose. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  He leaned forward to place a quick peck on her lips. “Good night.” Without waiting for her response, he jogged into the surrounding wilderness, forcing himself not to run like hell.

  Deep in the woods, he lowered the zipper on his jacket enough to see Ace sleeping peacefully against his chest. Grabbing the duffel bag he’d hidden a couple of days before, he began a steady jog to the small boat the gardener kept near the west shore, using one hand to minimize jostling the baby. He had thirty minutes to make the ten o’clock ferry that the gardener told him left the small island to the east each night, headed for James Island. According to the gardener, the island boasted the nearest airport. He intended to be on the next plane to the States.

  Thankful that his father didn’t pay the servants nearly as well as he paid the guards, he still worried that his only source of information was an elderly man who spoke halting English and had no great love for the imperious Forrester who ran the island. Fortunately the gardener also had a deep love of children. One evening earlier in the week, he’d been won over by Ace’s toothless grin and $500.

  There it was! He tossed his bag into the boat, untied the ropes that bound it to the makeshift dock, got in, and began to row. He felt vulnerable, constantly checking the shore to see if they’d been discovered. When Ace began to stir, he hummed under his breath and prayed the infant would remain silent.

  It took ten agonizing minutes to place a safe distance between them and the shore. He started the engine and winced as the motor roared.

  He glanced back at the shore. Shadows shifted along the tree line. Was someone there? Heart pounding, he turned back to the dark water and opened throttle.

  He exhaled a grateful breath when he saw the faint lights of the ferry dock glowing in the distance. Relaxing a bit, he fished the day’s two small white pills out of his pocket and examined them in the moonlight. He’d like to take one with him and have it analyzed, but the risks of it being an illegal substance were too great. He tossed them into the sea, a final farewell and good riddance to his life on the godforsaken island.

  Although he kept a watchful eye behind him, his thoughts drifted constantly to Maggie. Once he and Ace were safe, he was going to find her. He’d clearly failed both the man and the woman in his dreams, but he wouldn’t fail her. She needed him. And he and his son needed her.

  He would find her and the four of them would build a life together—somewhere safe, where no one could tear them apart. He would show her that he was the kind of man who wouldn’t let her down. He would keep her and her daughter safe—and to hell with Zach Weston.

  Fifteen minutes later he docked the boat and pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes, before striding toward the ferry and boarding only moments before it departed.

  The trip to the mainland took over an hour. Ace slept peacefully, still hidden underneath the black sweatshirt, while Thomas found a quiet place inside the ferry. Thankful there were few passengers at this time of night, he set the duffel bag so that it blocked the contents of his table from view. He removed the torn photo from his jacket and began sorting the pieces.

  His heart pounded so loud he feared he would wake his son as he began to fit the pieces together. As a head full of brown curls began to emerge, he focused on th
e pieces that completed this part of the picture. He recognized her. It was the woman from his dreams.

  She had dark, mysterious eyes. Gorgeous, laughing eyes. Familiar midnight eyes. He ran his hand roughly through his hair. Lots of women had dark eyes.

  Removing the dispenser from his other pocket, he laid tape carefully over woman’s hair and eyes. There was a section missing from the lower part of her face. After sorting through the remaining pieces again and finding nothing that resembled what he sought, he ran his hand along his jaw, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. He reached into the pocket of his pants with an unsteady hand to pull out the small scrap of photo he’d found in the trash. He placed the smile into the missing part of the picture.

  It was a perfect fit.

  Maggie? Maggie? He traced the planes of her face in disbelief. What were the chances she would so closely resemble the woman in his dreams? Slim to none.

  After weeks of wondering what the hell was going on, he was unexpectedly afraid of the truth. With a painful combination of reluctance and anticipation, he began to fit the rest of the picture together.

  Whoever ripped the photograph had done a thorough job. It took him another fifteen minutes to piece it back together. Increasing dread threatened his composure as the picture neared completion.

  It was Maggie—a happy, carefree Maggie he’d never seen before—holding a laughing little girl. A man stood behind her, his arms around his family, one hand resting possessively on Maggie’s obviously pregnant belly. He was smiling, eyes alight with joy and contentment.

  He stared in disbelief. The man in the picture was him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  In a daze he picked up the tape and finished preserving the photograph, his mind refusing to fully grasp the implications of his find. He was the man in the picture. And yet he, Alistair Thomas Forrester Jr., had never been like that. The man in the picture was happy, certain of his place in the world, loved. With the exception of the contentment he’d found in Ace, he’d never felt any of these things…yet the picture said otherwise.